Lycanthropy and other personal problems
by herebesherlocks
Summary: There are worse things than being a werewolf. Being a Black is one of them.


Sirius hurried down the steps, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at the enormous front doors, which thudded quietly closed behind him. Silently, in fact. He'd learned that one after a close call last year.

This was one night when he _really _could have used James' invisibility cloak. It was also the one night he couldn't ask for it. Sneaking out without the other Marauders was unheard of, by the unspoken rules of their friendship. By third year, even Remus could be counted on to give up his lingering allegiance to school policy in favor of adventure.

But not tonight.

Tonight they were sleeping soundly. In spite of everything, Sirius almost sighed with relief. It had been a hassle, getting his friends to shut up and go to bed—if he hadn't known James well enough to take his occasional hyperactivity for granted, Sirius would have sworn he'd been into Dumbledore's chocolate frog stash again. Peter and James had been itching to go pranking, and Sirius had had to feign a stomachache _again_. Not that that was difficult—in reality, his whole body ached—but even Peter was bound to get suspicious if he fell ill every full moon. Sirius had to admit he'd been lucky, however; after finally escaping the common room, he hadn't had to dodge a single patrolling teacher. Or Peeves. Sirius shuddered, remembering a nocturnal run-in with the poltergeist in his first year. Now _that _had been a close call.

He gripped his broomstick and walked faster, trusting to his dark cloak to hide him in the shadows. Once he rounded the patch of trees behind Hagrid's vegetable garden he knew he'd be invisible to anyone glancing out the castle windows. Looking back at the dark, towering silhouette of the castle, Sirius reminded himself for the hundredth time why he kept this up, why it was worth the guilt that gnawed more and more at his stomach as he grew older and, despite his professors' misgivings, wiser.

Hogwarts was home. It was as simple as that. Returning to his 'real' home—or Grimmauld Place, as he always called it in his head (fitting, as it was both grim and old)—would drain him, destroy him from the inside out. Even seeing designs reminiscent of the wallpaper made him ill.

Stepping inside was like being smothered. Every summer. Until the owl from James or Remus that meant he could breathe free air again.

_Hey Black,_

("Gryffindor?" said James in mock horror, the night of their Sorting feast. "You really are the Black sheep of the family, aren't you?" Sirius had cracked a smile at that; usually bad puns involved his first name.)

_Parents finally came 'round. How soon can you be here?_

As soon as he checked his moon chart, was the answer. And then it was back and forth all summer, longer and wilder and more frequent visits, until even the infamously misanthropic Orion and Walburga Black conceded, with ill grace, to connect Grimmauld Place to the Floo Network.

"You're the only one I want using this, mind," his father snarled the first time Sirius stepped into the fireplace and paused to adjust a strap on his knapsack. "None of your _Gryffindor _friends are welcome to set foot in this house…all Mudbloods and blood traitors, like as not."

Reg's friends were different. Reg's friends were always welcome. Reg's friends were perfect pureblood nobility who were sorted into Slytherin and didn't disgrace their families.

_That's because we're related to all of them! _Sirius wanted to scream at his brother. But reflecting too deeply on pureblood roots always brought up uncomfortable realizations regarding his own genetic inheritance, so he resisted.

"Bye Dad. Bye Reg. See you…hopefully not til' September," he added under his breath.

"Come back before the full moon," said his father jerkily, and walked out of the room before Sirius had even shouted _"Potter residence!"_

If he were in a mood to kid himself, Sirius would have pretended not to know his family breathed a collective sigh of relief to see the back of him. Failing that, he could have hoped that this last instruction stemmed from some sense of paternal concern. But it was, of course, simpler than that.

It doesn't do to let out that you have a werewolf in the family.

It was worth it, Sirius concluded, turning back toward the forest and quickening his pace upon seeing a light glow beginning to outline the treetops. It was always worth it. Werewolves weren't allowed at school; who would want their children near him? This was the only way to do both: have a life and keep his friends safe. And so he would keep sneaking out to the Forest every month. It was better than being cooped up in his magically-reinforced bedroom at home, anyway; there were at least things to hunt in the forest. If he did get a little scratched up or bitten, he'd gotten good enough at healing minor wounds that no one ever had to know.

Unless they chose to materialize out of the blackness behind Hagrid's cabin and grab his arm.

"Sirius Black, what on _earth_ do you think you're doing?"

Sirius cursed and struggled, wrenching his arm out of McGonagall's grasp. There was no time to wonder what she was doing here, or how she recognized him; she must have seen his face in the castle lights during the split second he'd turned around. Stupid, _stupid…_

He brought his broomstick up and pushed off the ground almost before he was seated, pushed off hard enough, hopefully, to escape the hand clutching at his fallen hood—

And it worked; he was rising, and free—

_"Accio!"_

Sirius cursed again, more desperately, as his Cleansweep dropped back to the ground…before it hit he had jumped and was off, running, running for the Forest…

It was hopeless, he knew, to get far enough, but there was no way McGonagall would listen to what would seem a ludicrous excuse for being out after hours. He had less than ten minutes before the moon rose, ten minutes to make his way as deeply into the forest as he could…she would come after him, of course, but she had the broomstick…let her make it back to the castle before I do…bar the door…

_"Black!"_

McGonagall raised her wand behind him, and Sirius reached for his own, thoughts of charms to confuse and erase memory fluttering wildly through his mind, knowing all the while it was no good. He didn't have the skill to contend with the Transfiguration Professor, whose magic was pulling him to a stop before he made it ten feet. He dropped his wand back inside his pocket and slumped to the ground.

_Mum and Dad would've known what to do,_ he thought bitterly, _even Reg has probably mastered the Imperius Curse by now…_

This was the end. The phrase pounded dully through his head, in time with his rapidly beating heart, which didn't seem to have realized yet that it was pointless…stupid to worry about leaving Hogwarts _now, _when his carelessness was going to cost them both much worse if he couldn't convince her…

McGongall was speaking above his head. Sirius made an effort to listen.

"…don't know _when_ I have been more shocked at a student's behavior! And one of my own House! Mr. Black, _what is the meaning of this?_"

Sirius stumbled to his feet, and Professor McGonagall's wand hand twitched again.

"Professor," he said desperately, "you've _got_ to…"

McGonagall's voice was ice.

_"Got _to?"

"Something terrible will happen…please…"

"Is that so?"

McGonagall's eyes flashed and her nostrils thinned, the very image of a great bird of prey ready to pounce, but Sirius, for once, was immune.

"Professor, please, you've got to let me go, I'll explain as soon as I can…"

She swelled.

"You most certainly will, Mr. Black! I have half a mind to bring you to the headmaster's office this instant!"

Sirius was in tears. The moon must be reaching the horizon now, there wasn't _time_ for this…even if he were free, even if he had his broomstick, there was no getting out of range of the castle now.

"No, Professor, I…"

"_Mr. Black!_ You, by some astounding measure of stupidity which I would not have thought possible even from yourself, do not seem to comprehend the situation clearly. Allow me to elaborate! _Students who explore the Forbidden Forest after curfew tend to get themselves expelled, if not disemboweled._ Am I clear?"

And suddenly it was. Clear as day. Or moonlight.

"YES!"

Sirius' shout shocked them both. He spoke as quickly as he could, feet already moving toward the castle.

"Headmaster's office, excellent idea, I deserve it, don't I? Come _on!_"

McGonagall looked, if possible, even more murderous than before. Doesn't matter. Keep moving. He could hear her taking deep, calming breaths behind him, no doubt oscillating between the desires to make good on her threat or just strangle him then and there.

Don't look back.

After a moment—a long, agonizing moment—she fell into step beside him.

"I am…glad to see you so acquiescent, Black."

"Yep," muttered Sirius distractedly, speeding up. His bones ached more and more insistently, ready to stretch and grow and reshape themselves into monstrous form…

They were at the castle, he threw himself at the heavy doors just as McGonagall waved her wand, and they flew open. Sirius picked himself up in the entrance hall and scrambled toward the staircase.

"Black," panted McGonagall as they hurried along, "why…are…you…in such…a hurry?"

"Not running away," Sirius called frantically, seizing the balustrade of another staircase just as it moving. McGonagall leapt onto it just in time, eyes flashing again.

"Forgive me if I disagree—"

Sirius groaned aloud, thanked whatever forces controlled the universe that his friends were not here to see this, and took Professor McGonagall's free hand in his own.

"Not running away, see? Now _come on!"_

They had reached the third floor; Sirius jumped off the staircase and was dragging McGonagall along…round one corner, past an alcove containing several suits of armor and one rather hideous tapestry…Sirius could feel his bones starting to shift and grind. He was running flat out now, praying. If he had miscalculated this…if he had put everyone in the castle in danger…

They skidded to a halt in front of the gargoyle.

"Say the password," he begged McGonagall, who was gasping for breath beside him, clutching at a stitch in her side.

"Licorice…licorice Allsort," she wheezed.

Sirius did not wait for an invitation, but sprinted up the stairs and flung open the door to the headmaster's office. Dumbledore was seated behind his desk, clad in a burgundy velvet dressing gown and examining a golden feather through a large lens. As the door crashed open he looked up, blinking benignly.

"Good evening, Mr. Black. To what do I owe the very late pleasure?"

Sirius could hear McGonagall stumbling up the stairs behind him, sputtering in outrage, however; he had time only for one sentence, and it was not an apology.

"Professor, I'm a…"

There was a grinding snap somewhere along his back, and Sirius broke off as his limbs started shaking…in his last seconds of control he pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it, shouting _"Stupefy!"_

Then everything went black.


End file.
